Last moments are an interesting thing. You understand that you’re fading into oblivion,
but there’s a suspended disbelief still. The brain, or at least mine, refused to comprehend the
universe telling me, “You’re dying, Marcus. Welcome home.” Maybe it was taking so long to
understand because the flesh simply refuses to let go; rather it must be taken by the old invisible
specter and his scythe. I didn’t see him even in that moment, as I lay warming up in my
depressurizing suit so very far away from home. It was nothing like the ideal moments I’d
imagined: in my bed, surrounded by family, loved ones, and grandkids. Maybe my wife too, if I
was going first, which I always hoped would be the case. She didn’t like the dark, so I always
walked into dark rooms first. At least I will have done that part, huh, Amina? Ironic though,
since I still hated bees from the scars they gave me, and she gardened with them in tandem.